


autumnal moonlight

by wintersrose616



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersrose616/pseuds/wintersrose616
Summary: He thinks over the past few months, to see if he can tell where a definitive shift happened. They had all spent most of their time together, except the others started peeling off slowly and steadily over the course of the past few years. Peace brought fresh love, and while Sylvain delighted in seeing his friends fall into it, he’s never dreamed himself the type.His room is quiet, a calm that does nothing to soothe the panic steadily building within his chest. His heart is beating so fast he fears it might break his ribs. He’s terrified of what’s thrumming inside him. He can’t believe it, doesn’t want to admit it, but—But.His face crumples as he curls his hands into fists. “I’m in love with him,” he whispers. “Oh fuck. Ohh, fuck.”He's in love with Dimitri..Sylvain wakes up and realises he's in love with the King of Fódlan. This definitely doesn't cause him to have an early onset midlife crisis.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 38
Kudos: 256





	autumnal moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Sylvain feels one (1) emotion, and immediately panics.

Early morning light filters in through the crack in Sylvain’s curtains, leaving the rays to shine directly onto his face. He grumbles, shifting as he flips the side of his head over to the other side, tightening the hold he has on his pillow as he nestles back down. The sunbeams aren’t incessant, but they do leave a patch of warmth on the back of his neck and shoulder as he tries to ignore being awake. 

It doesn’t work. Sylvain pushes up onto one elbow, scrubbing a hand over his face before pushing it through his hair as he moves, going from his stomach to flopping onto his back. It’s far too early, he decides, peering grumpily at the sliver of the dawn sky he can see. 

After a few more moments of lounging, he forces himself up, climbing from the bed. His feet brush against the cold floor as he rises, but he pays it no mind. He heads to the window, listening to his shoulders pop when he stretches his arms over his head. He parts the curtains with a hand, peering out. He presses his palm flat against the glass, feeling the chill that promises winter will be quicker this year than otherwise. The Horsebow Moon had just started, but there was already a biting promise of cold. 

The residential suites for the Margrave and the rest of the Gautier family reside in a wing of the castle that overlooks the main courtyard. Sylvain watches the early morning bustling of various workers and servants down below. Sylvain’s only lived in the Margrave’s personal suite for two years, largely because he knows if his father can help it, he’ll never be in Fhirdiad again.

The two year anniversary of the peace treaty with Sreng was rapidly approaching. The last time his father stepped foot in Fhirdiad was shortly after Dimitri had officially signed the declarations. Before that, he had only shown up a few times in the interim of the war ending. It hadn’t bothered Sylvain much. He preferred it to the other option. In the past four years, Sylvain could count on one hand how many times he had returned to Gautier territory. 

He stands at the window for a few moments longer, watching the sun properly crest in the sky, before he turns and readies himself for the day. His schedule for the day isn’t _horrendous_ , but he isn’t looking forward to sitting through the mid-morning council. The paperwork he had gone through the night prior with Dimitri and Felix promised that today’s council would have _extra_ bickering from the nobles representing former Adrestian territory. Still, he knows it’s an important job, even if he would rather spend his morning reading, or playing a game of chess with Dimitri. Five years of war had torn the nation apart piece by piece, and even with their vigorous efforts, there is still more to do. 

Sylvain finishes dressing, checking his reflection in the mirror as he tussles his hair to make certain he looks decent. He ducks out into the corridor, heading down the twisting halls towards Dimitri’s chamber. He knows Felix will be training, and Dimitri will probably be awake but without breakfast. He catches one of the servants on his way, asking her if Dimitri’s sent for food yet.

She shakes her head. “His Majesty hasn’t left his chamber yet.”

“Will you send for food for both of us, then, please?” he asks her, giving her one of his best smiles.

Most of the castle workers are used to him, so all he gets from her is a genuine smile and a quick curtsey before she scurries off to fetch the King’s breakfast. The rest of his walk to the King’s chamber is quick, and he passes only a few more workers on his walk. He knocks lightly against the door, waiting for a moment. He hears Dimitri shuffling behind the door before it opens. 

“Morning,” Sylvain drawls.

“Sylvain!” Dimitri smiles, opening the door wider. “Good morning. Please, come in.”

“You look excited,” says Sylvain, sidling past him. “I sent for breakfast.”

“Oh! Thank you. I received a messenger earlier. I've been reading Dedue’s letter.”

“Ah, no wonder you're grinning.” Sylvain takes a seat in front of the hearth, where no fire is lit. Dimitri’s small side table is covered in letters and parchments, and he follows Sylvain, taking his seat as he lifts a piece up. “How is he?”

“He received his birthday gift just on time,” says Dimitri, his smile pleased. “He enjoyed it. He’s planning on visiting in a few weeks; he’ll probably arrive at the beginning of the Wyvern Moon.”

The chat amicably about Dedue’s efforts in Duscur. Sylvain had gone to the region once before, when Dimitri first started restoration efforts after the war’s end. Dedue’s spent a good portion of his time in Duscur since they had gotten an established council in Fhirdiad. Sylvain can’t blame him for prioritizing it over other things. 

By the time breakfast arrives, Dimitri’s mood is still substantially lifted. Sylvain’s happy to see it. They finish eating relatively quickly, pushing the line to _almost_ tardy, which isn’t abnormal for Sylvain, but would reflect poorly on Dimitri.

The council room still is missing most when they arrive. Felix is already sitting at the King’s right hand, and rolls his eyes when Sylvain greets him with a wink. He sits across from Felix, his attention tuned to Dimitri’s lilting cadence as the council begins. He keeps his face neutral whenever a squabble arises, since Felix is always quick to give them a snappish quip that makes them settle. It’s as boring as he knew it would be, but he’s proud of himself for powering through without adding any comments that could be deemed too inappropriate. 

The last to leave the council room are the three of them, like usual. Felix scowls as he neatens up papers, muttering about _stupid, bickering nobles_ the entire time. Sylvain offers his help as Dimitri rises, huffing an amused laugh at Felix. 

“It’s not as bad as it once was,” says Dimitri.

“Yeah, but it could be a hell of a lot better,” Felix retorts.

“Someone’s _cranky_ ,” Sylvain drawls, winking when Dimitri glances at him with warning writ across his face. “Do we need to send for Annette to leave her classes early?”

Felix makes a stangled sounding noise, his ears turning red. “Shut up.” 

“I’m just saying, she might make you feel less cranky—” 

“Sylvain!”

He laughs at the blush rapidly spreading across Felix’s face. Before he has a chance to think he could be in danger, there’s knocking on the door. Dimitri sounds relieved to call out an entrance, to stop Felix and Sylvain before Sylvain could rile him up even more. 

A messenger walks in, a small package in hand. They bow deeply to Dimitri before turning to Sylvain and bowing shallowly. “Lord Gautier, I have a delivery for you, from Garreg Mach.”

“Garreg Mach?” Sylvain holds his hand out, taking the wrapped up package. It’s small, but Sylvain knows immediately it’s a book, and spots a familiar handwriting scribbled across the top. He beams, thanking the messenger and dismissing them before turning to Dimitri and Felix, waggling the book in hand. “Bernie’s finished her newest story.”

Felix rolls his eyes as Dimitri smiles. Sylvain takes the small letter attached to the package with twine, breaking the wax. Bernadetta’s message is short, but ends with something he’s familiar with. A warning to _‘not to share it with anyone! I mean it, Sylvain!’_

“Oh, I already know this is going to be delightful,” Sylvain murmurs. He sets the package aside, so his hands—already itching to rip off the paper wrapping to get to the book—won’t touch it before they’re done.

After they finish lunch, while Dimitri and Felix go off on their own tasks, Sylvain seeks out Ashe for a quick bout of sparring. He hasn’t truly cared about keeping himself battle ready, but Felix will force him into random sparring matches and whenever Sylvain hasn’t taken up his lance recently, the matches are quick losses for him. Quick losses make for an especially cranky Felix, which means more sparring for Sylvain, which is not a pleasant situation Sylvain likes being in.

The evening brings with him the chance to finally break into Bernadetta’s story. He takes a quick bath to wash off before he cheerfully grabs the package and hurries off to find a good place to read. 

Sylvain seeks out the quietness of Dimitri’s study, knowing the plush chairs in front of the fireplace are going to be the safest place for him to camp out for a few hours. The only ones who dare burst into bother the King are himself, and Felix, but he knows Felix will probably be out with Annette for the night. 

Dimitri isn’t there, but that’s never stopped him before. Sylvain busies himself with lighting the hearth fire, going through the room to light some candles after it’s fully stoked. The room warms in an orange glow as Sylvain settles into one of the squishy chairs in front of the fire, opening up Bernadetta’s package. There’s another letter resting just in the first page of the book, which is _another_ warning about Sylvain not sharing the story with anyone. He normally doesn’t share the full story—but he _has_ been known to talk about how good Bernie’s writing is to anyone who’ll listen.

He’s a good quarter of the way through the book when the door to the study creaks open. Sylvain’s legs are kicked over the armrest and he leans back against the opposite one to peer at the door. Dimitri smiles when he spots Sylvain, completely unsurprised by his presence. 

“How is Bernadetta’s story?” he asks, walking to his desk to drape his cloak over the back of his chair.

“Wonderful,” Sylvain sighs, absently kicking his feet as Dimitri rounds the chairs and sits across from him. “She’s bewitched me with her words again.”

Dimitri snorts a laugh. “I think she would dislike hearing that description.” 

“It’s true, though.” Sylvain slips a ribbon into the book to mark his place before setting it aside. “She has a way with words. I’ve heard from the Archbishop that her classes at the Academy are some of the most popular.” 

“She does make an excellent orator,” says Dimitri. “I am certain her personal writings are even better.”

Sylvain smiles. “She’s also added in three warnings for me not to let anyone else read it.” 

Dimitri chuckles. “So I suspect you’re going to tell me what you _think_ is going to happen instead?”

“Oh, naturally. Have you met me?”

**.**

Halfway through the Horsebow Moon is the harvest festival. It had never been a grand celebration in their youth, but the people of Fhirdiad started making changes as soon as the war was over.It helped that the end of the war coincided with the usual beginnings of the celebration. Two years after the war, the festivities grew to a week-long ordeal of everyone celebrating mostly by getting drunk and spending coin on trinkets. The castle is still brimming with activity, even though most of the festivities happen outside its gates in Fhirdiad’s streets. 

Sylvain has no plans to join in on the first day, but he still dresses up to walk through the castle and wish the workers Dimitri’s given leave to good tidings. Felix himself is dressed _fancy_ , though his intentions are clear. Annette’s always loved the crowds of the streets, the sweets at the market stalls, and Felix would go to the ends of the world to make her happy.

They walk in mostly silence, though Sylvain makes dry jokes that get mild reactions from Felix. Sylvain knows Felix is going to hate the crowds as soon as he and Annette are outside the castle, and he’s already _tense_. Still, he does his best to cheer him up. 

After a particularly corny joke, Felix frowns. He’s been quiet for a few minutes, and Sylvain glances to him. He looks like he's working himself up to saying something, and Sylvain isn't sure what it is. He's certain he's not gearig himself up to ask for advice—he and Annie have been going on proper courtship dates whenever Felix is free of paperwork and Annette's got free time outside her classes for nearly two years now. Still, Felix looks disconcerted, which can’t be a good thing right before he’s set to go have fun. 

Sylvain tilts his head. "Hey, Fe, buddy? Are you. . .good?" 

"Are _you_?" Felix snaps, then immediately looks like he regrets speaking. 

He’s not offended in the least, just perplexed. "Uh, yeah? Pretty sure, at least." Sylvain blinks at him, scratching his cheek. ". . .Why?" 

"You've been acting strange." 

Sylvain blinks again. "Have I?" 

"Yes," Felix states, the syllable drawn out as if he _needs_ to speak slowly for Sylvain to understand. "Whenever I see you outside of doing council work you seem. . ." He trails off, making a half-aborted strangled noise. "I don't know! I'm not good at this!" 

"Hey, hey, it's alright. I'm fine, okay?” He spreads his hands, palms facing Felix. “I spend most of my time outside of paperwork with Ashe or Dimitri—oh, but I have been reading Bernadetta's new book that she sent me. You have got to convince her to let you read it, it's about—" 

"Ugh." Felix rolls his eyes. "You're ridiculous." 

He stomps away, leaving Sylvain to follow him, a frown growing steadily on his face. He tries to think about his past few weeks as he catches up, tilting his head to peer at Felix.

“Have I really been acting weird?” 

“Yes,” says Felix. He pauses, obviously thinking over his words. “Not. . . _bad_ weird. Just strange.”

“Hmm.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence. Sylvain can still feel the irritation rolling off of Felix, but he truly has no idea what’s upset him. He _hasn’t_ been acting weird. Everything's been pretty standard, outside of council days. He wakes up, snags breakfast with Dimitri, or even Felix and Ingrid, goes over paperwork and rewording treatises, then he makes sure Dimitri's had lunch. After that, he'll go watch Ashe train his knights, or spend some time in Dimitri's study reading Bernie's new book. It’s a stable schedule; he’s never thought of himself as the type to care about having a normal routine, but it’s nice. 

Annette is waiting in the grand entrance hall of the castle, and Sylvain can tell the shift in mood as soon as Felix sees her. His arms uncross, shoulders relaxing, and Sylvain almost spots a smile curling his lips. Sylvain grins, lifting a hand to poke his cheek, startling Felix into yelping indignantly. 

“Sylvain!”

“She’s made you so soft,” Sylvain says, smile still wide. “It’s cute.”

Felix makes a hand gesture that is decidedly not cute before turning and all but stomping up to Annette, who beams upon seeing him. Not to be outdone, Sylvain bounds after him, throwing an arm around Felix’s shoulders and ignoring the sharp jab of an elbow to his ribs to waggle a finger at Annette.

“Now, young lady, have him home no later than sundown.”

“I am going to stab you,” Felix grits, as Annette flushes a bright pink.

“We’re going to the _festival_ , Sylvain,” she says, cheeks puffing out in irritation. “The sun sets in an hour!”

Felix manages, in the split second Sylvain’s distracted by Annette’s declarations, to shrug him off. He takes Annette’s hand—gently, Sylvain notes—and all but corrals her out of the hall. Sylvain cups a hand around his mouth to shout after them, _“Have fun! Don’t do anything I would do!”_

That earns him another colourful hand gesture from Felix and a half-pout thrown over Annette’s shoulder. 

He’s still highly amused when he reaches Dimitri’s study, tapping lightly out of preamble before cracking the door open. Dimitri’s at his desk, papers strewn in front of him, just as he was before he and Felix had collected him for dinner. He glances up, startled, but Sylvain sees his shoulders relax when his eye lands on him.

“Just me,” he says.

“Sylvain.” Dimitri smiles. “Please, come in.”

“Still working?”

Dimitri sighs at his tone. “Dedue sent some reports ahead of his return. I just want to be certain that we have all we need to get the proper reparations to Duscur.”

Sylvain hums, softly, grabbing the chair at the other side of Dimitri’s desk and dragging it over so he’s at the side edge. He makes a grabby motion and Dimitri gives him a small, tired smile as he hands the document over. Dedue’s reports, like always, are succinct and to the point. While Sylvain’s eyes skim over the words, he reaches out his other hand, waggling his fingers. Dimitri takes a moment before there’s a soft, “ _Oh!_ ” and another parchment is placed in his awaiting hand. 

He switches his attention over to the words Dimitri’s written. It’s much more wordier than it needs to be. Sylvain isn’t surprised. Dimitri’s always favoured waxing poetic to anything else—even _if_ he has to think over his words and speak haltingly. Sylvain’s always found it endearing. Despite how he feels about it, he knows it drives Felix half-mad when he’s stuck alongside them working on paperwork, so Sylvain normally proofreads Dimitri’s official statements to cut his word count down to something that their dear Duke Fraldarius—and the rest of the council, truthfully—can handle.

He takes Dimitri’s quil to make a few revisions, but before he hands the parchment back to Dimitri, he levels him with a look. “You’re leaving this for tomorrow,” he says.

Dimitri startles, already looking ready to argue. “But—.”

“No,” says Sylvain. “You need to rest on it; if you just keep rereading it tonight, you’ll give yourself a headache.”

Dimitri’s lips part, but then his jaw clicks closed. He looks away, almost pouting. “I think I could handle it.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Maybe, but I also know you’ll overthink it. C’mon, it’s the festival week. I know you’ve got some goodies here, let's have a drink and then see if you still want to _work_.”

Dimitri’s eye narrows, but Sylvain spots him twisting his lips to quell a smile. He sets the paper down, but Dimitri doesn’t even look at it, rising to his feet to go to the liquor cabinet tucked behind the desk. Sylvain settles back in his chair, pleased. 

By the time they’re a quarter of the way through the bottle, chatting about anything but work, Sylvain pauses and brings up what Felix had mentioned.

“Do you think I’ve been acting differently?” 

Dimitri blinks at him, lips pressed to the rim of his glass. His brow creases as he frowns, lowering his drink. “Not that I can tell,” he says. “Though, truthfully, I sometimes get too caught up in my own thoughts to notice. Why? Is something wrong?”

Sylvain smiles at how immediately Dimitri turns to _help_ mode. He shakes his head, draining the rest of his glass in one go, letting the liquid burn down his throat before he speaks. “Felix said I’ve been acting strange.”

“Oh.” Dimitri’s frowning when Sylvain glances up. “Are we sure he’s just not. . . _distracted_ with Annette and has his judgement clouded?”

Sylvain’s snort almost makes him choke on his spit, but he manages to laugh instead, setting his glass down on the desk and leaning his chair onto its back legs. “Maybe he told me that so I’d stop giving him shit when he goes on dates.”

“I can see that being a reasonable excuse on his behalf.”

The rest of the night passes breezily with the additional help of the alcohol loosening Dimitri’s tongue. The main plan is for him to join the harvest festival tomorrow night, so the citizens can see their King amongst them, but Dimitri’s plan is to work up until that point, while Sylvain tries—in vain—to convince him otherwise. 

He’s in an abundantly cheerful mood when he returns to his chambers. By the time he’s settled in bed, he’s no longer dwelling on Felix’s words. He knows Felix wouldn’t lie, but he can’t fathom what behavioural changes he could’ve made would warrant Felix asking about it.

It’s not until he wakes, later, that he realises what’s wrong. 

He jolts awake from a nightmare about an abandoned tower, the ruins surrounding a well too deep to see the sky from. He lays in his bed, trying to calm his breathing, hand splayed across his stomach as he stares up at his ceiling, telling himself he’s safe. He repeats it to himself, like a mantra, his voice soft in his empty room. He groans, untangling his fingers from his bedding to press his palm to his forehead. 

_“You’re alright_ ,” he tells himself, louder, so that he might believe himself. “ _You’re fine_.”

He drops his hand back to the sheets, curling his fingers into them. He wishes Dimitri was there with him.

Wait—

_What?_

He jolts himself with that thought, eyes flying open. He—he _wants Dimitri with him_. 

“What the fuck,” he breathes. “What the _fuck_.”

His heart is racing again, but this time it’s not from the nightmare adrenaline. His emotions all come bubbling up to the surface, confusing and unreasonable, because _surely_ , certainly, what he was feeling was impossible. Sylvain did not do commitment, nor long term. In fact, he had even stopped sleeping around after his last visit to Gautier territory nearly a year ago. Most of his free time he spends with Dimitri, which cannot be considered strange to anyone else, but to Sylvain. . .

He thinks over the past few months, to see if he can tell where a definitive shift happened. They had all spent most of their time together, except the others started peeling off slowly and steadily over the course of the past few years. Peace brought fresh love, and while Sylvain delighted in seeing his friends fall into it, he’s never dreamed himself the type. 

His room is quiet, a calm that does nothing to soothe the panic steadily building within his chest. His heart is beating so fast he fears it might break his ribs. He’s terrified of what’s thrumming inside him. He can’t believe it, doesn’t want to admit it, but—

But. 

His face crumples as he curls his hands into fists. “I’m in love with him,” he whispers. “Oh fuck. Ohh, fuck.”

He's in love with Dimitri. 

He pushes his hands through his hair, sitting up, tugging at red strands. He had been so certain that love wasn’t an emotion he would ever be able to feel in this context. He loves his friends, would die for them if they asked, but loving someone romantically was out of the question. Loving _Dimitri_ romantically had to be out of the question. Sylvain isn’t built for that kind of love, to give or receive. 

Sylvain kicks his blankets off, pushing himself to the edge of the bed. He’s halfway to his feet before he stops. It’s the middle of the night. His instincts are telling him to go to Felix, right now, and shake him awake, but he doesn’t even know if he got back to the castle, or if he stayed with Annette. He plops back down, dropping his face into his hands. Right. Yeah. Felix has his own things to manage. He doesn’t have time to deal with Sylvain’s crisis. Besides, he doubted he’d appreciate it if Sylvain burst into his quarters in the middle of the night to tell him he thinks he was in love with Dimitri. 

He muffles his groan into his palms. He needs to lay back down, and think about anything else. He’s still got the ending of Bernadetta’s story to read. He could do that, until his thoughts calm down. Reading always normally cheers him up.

And if he reads, he won’t think about Dimitri. At all. He won’t think too deeply about how Dimitri flushes a pretty pink whenever Sylvain insists he take the better tasting fruits. He doesn’t want to. Nor does he want to think about how cute his laugh is, when he really gets going. How his cheeks scrunch up and he brings a hand up to try to hide his gleeful grin. 

Sylvain drops his hands, closing his eyes. 

Oh, Sothis. He’s truly fucked.

**.**

Despite how much he tries to convince the others, Sylvain is far too observant for his own good. He becomes hyper aware of every single interaction he has with Dimitri over the next few weeks, though he doesn’t change his behaviour too noticeably from how it had been. He still seeks the comfort of his presence out, still flirts with the staff and anyone else who tolerates his behaviour for longer than it takes them to roll their eyes.

He goes through a few panicked moments the first few days, before he decides to rationalize. Sure, okay, he’s in love with one of his best friends. Great! That can’t change anything. He can’t risk it. He knows what would await him if he did something stupid, like tell Dimitri how he feels. 

Sylvain knows he should probably talk to someone about it, to make sure he’s just not projecting pretend feelings onto Dimitri because he’s the only other one out of their friend group that’s still single. There isn’t anyone he can truly go to. He can’t bother Felix with this, and Ingrid is as hopeless as he is. Ashe will bring up some sort of confession that worked out in his historical novels; Annette would just go tell Felix. Mercie’s busy at her orphanage and no one else is close enough to allow him the opportunity to.

He decides the only thing to do is suffer in silence. It’s something he’s had decades of practice with.

The only thing he changes in how he acts is how much he carefully watches how he acts around Dimitri. His instincts kick in more often than not, and he acts casual as he always does. Now, though, he adds onto that with watching how Dimitri reacts to the others. He notices how his smiles seem tighter to people in the court than they do to him, or Felix. How his laugh sounds more faked around the others. 

It’s not hard for him to have fallen in love with Dimitri. Most of the court has. He’s seen the way the ladies flutter their lashes, using any excuse to lay a hand on his arm, the way noble lords content themselves with introducing their daughters to the unwed king. Sylvain sits and endures as much as possible until he’s close to a snapping point.

That’s when he heads out into the city, rising before dawn to escape the castle gates atop his horse. Riding his horse in general always relaxes him, but he’s not headed out of the city proper. Instead, he winds his way down cobbled streets until he finds himself passing the Royal School of Sorcery, the bell tower standing tall above it. A few streets beyond that is his goal. 

Mercedes’ orphanage isn’t large, by any means, but it’s not small. She’s prided herself in how much she’s accomplished on her own, though a lot of coin has flowed in from Dimitri and his frequent visits. 

It’s still relatively early when he slows outside orphange’s gates, climbing down from his horse’s saddle. Despite the hour, there’s a couple older kids out in the green courtyard, and their excitement is infectious when they spot him and his mare.

Mercedes’ must hear the childrens’ squeals of joy, as Sylvain hefts them up into the saddle, his mare gentle as she walks circles with them atop her. She appears in the doorway, a gentle smile on her face.

“Good morning, Sylvain.”

“Good morning to you, too, gorgeous,” he says, winking. “It’s been too long since I last visited.”

She hides her giggle behind her hand, descending the stairs. She leans up to kiss his cheek in greeting, smiling when he reciprocates with a kiss to her forehead. 

“It’s time for breakfast,” she declares. “Would you like to join us?” 

He spends the morning with Mercedes and her children, helping where he can and entertaining the children. His horse is more popular than he is, and he can’t fault her for that. By the time he figures he should get back to the castle, it’s past noon, and the children are readying for lunch. He kisses Mercedes on the cheek, smiling when she gently pats his own and wishes him a safe ride back.

The stablehands are the ones to inform him, as he’s busy dealing with his horse’s tack. They don’t tell him directly, but he overhears their whispers about the Duscur knight returning. 

It’s not an accurate description, but Sylvain knows exactly who they’re talking about.

He hurries with brushing his mare down, ignoring the stablehands’ offers to handle it for him, and by the time he’s heading into the keep, he’s brimming with excitement. Dedue and Mercedes in one day could do nothing but wonders for his state of emotions.

Sylvain rounds a corner and comes to a sharp stop, spotting who he’s been hunting for at the end of the hall, chatting amicably to one of the kitchen staff. Sylvain feels a bright grin stretch his lips. He takes a few steps forward, purposely loud, and watches as Dedue notices him. He lifts his hand in a small wave, but Sylvain will have _none_ of that. It’s been months since he’s seen Dedue. 

He wants a hug. 

"De _due_ ," Sylvain whines, opening his arms. 

Dedue's eyes flick in an amused roll, but he lets Sylvain crash against his chest.

A lone hand reaches up from where both are wrapped around Sylvain, gently patting his hair. "What did you do this time?" he asks, not unkindly. 

He’s unsurprised that Dedue already knows something’s wrong. There’s no point in trying to mask it with him; Dedue’s been able to read through him from the first day they met. "I realized I have _feelings_ ," says Sylvain, voice muffled against Dedue's chest. 

"This is a surprise to you?" 

Sylvain nods, pulling back enough to pout, petulantly up at him. "I don't want them."

Dedue lifts an eyebrow, still petting Sylvain's hair. "Are you certain you don’t?"

"I want no thoughts," he states. "Want my head to be empty."

Dedue sighs. "That is not true and you know it."

Sylvain grumbles slightly, pulling back so Dedue can have some of his personal space back. He crosses his arms over his chest, still pouting.

Dedue just rolls his eyes. "Come with me. I had plans to make lunch with some of the spices I've brought from home."

 _That_ perks Sylvain up immediately. "You brought spices?"

A chuckle falls from Dedue's lips at his excitement. "Of course."

They walk together towards the kitchens, Sylvain asking Dedue about Duscur. Dimitri’s efforts to make things right in the region are going great. Dedue tells him that progress has been steady, and he thinks soon the lands might be able to sustain proper trade. 

There’s few staff in the kitchens when they arrive, and most let them have their space. Sylvain has doubts that if it was just him, he’d be allowed to waltz through, Margrave’s heir or no, but Dedue has the proper knowledge of functioning in a kitchen to be allowed free rein. 

Dedue walks through the castle kitchens with the confidence and sure footedness of a frequent visitor. Sylvain knows where they keep the good wine outside of the cellar, but Dedue knows where they’ve stashed the meat and other ingredients he needs for their lunch. He goes through the motions of gathering everything, letting Sylvain chatter idly about how Mercedes is doing, before he sets everything up and gives Sylvain tasks to do. 

“Would you like to talk about these feelings you don’t wish to have?”

Sylvain makes a small face, accepting the knife Dedue hands him. “It’s Felix’s fault. He said I was acting weird a couple weeks ago and it made me overthink what I was doing.”

Dedue hums. “His Majesty told me you had been acting. . .more chaste, since you last returned from Gautier territory.”

“Chaste?” Sylvain snorts, turning his head away so Dedue won’t be able to parse anything from his expression.

The fact that Dimitri’s noticed he’s been acting different tells him everything. Felix had been the only one who bothered confronting him about it. _Not bad,_ Felix told him, _just weird._

He tries not to dwell as he goes through Dedue’s instructions. Sylvain’s knife skills aren’t nearly as quick as Dedue’s, but he’s not shy of using a blade. He’s just cautious, moving slower but precisely, mulling over his words as he chops through the vegetables. The silence, thankfully, doesn’t bother Dedue. He’s always been one who prefers working in quiet closeness than anything else. Dedue is busy mixing different spices together to season the meat, and it smells fantastic already. 

“Hey, Dedue?” 

“Yes, Sylvain?” 

His mouth parts, the words right on the tip of his tongue. If he was going to tell anyone else first about this, Dedue would be best. He’s Dimitri’s best friend. He might be able to sleuth. Except he’s Dimitri’s best friend. If Sylvain tells him, he might feel obligated to tell Dimitri, and he’s not ready for that. Not ready for the instant rejection he’ll get. 

His mouth forms silent words, his hands having halted their movements. The meat is searing in the pan already, and Dedue side steps closer to him, gently prying the knife from his grasp to tug the board away so he can finish chopping the vegetable up. Sylvain presses his palms down onto the counter. “I think I’m in love,” he admits, his voice soft and utterly weak. 

Dedue’s knife pauses its movements. There’s a beat of silence, before the steady _thwack, thwack, thwack_ , returns. “That’s what you don’t wish to feel?” 

Sylvain makes a noise that’s half scoff, half choke. “I’m terrified,” he whispers. “I wasn’t made for it.” 

“That isn’t true,” says Dedue. “You love deeply.” 

Sylvain rolls his eyes, pushing his weight off his palms and rocking back onto his heels. “There’s a strong difference between what I feel for my friends, and what I’m feeling now.” 

“Perhaps,” Dedue says. “Perhaps not.” 

Sylvain frowns, but Dedue busies his hands with adding the vegetables into the pan. 

“You still think little of yourself,” Dedue continues, after a moment. “I believe whoever you have affection for would reciprocate it.”

Sylvain snorts, crossing his arms. “Yeah, sure. That’s believable.”

“Sylvain.” 

He takes in a breath, forces a smile on his face, and turns to Dedue. His stoic expression doesn’t change, the disappointment clear in his eyes. 

“You are worth it,” he says. “No matter what your past has led you to believe, you are worth loving.”

Sylvain’s lips twist and he wrenches his gaze away. After a moment, he lets out a shaky exhale. “You’re just sweet-talking me.” His protest sounds wobbly to his own ears. 

Dedue lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. When Sylvain glances over, trying to stubbornly stop the moisture burning his eyes, it’s to see his small smile. “Let’s go eat,” Dedue says. “You will feel better after.”

Sylvain swipes a hand across his eyes, nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

**.**

Sylvain’s never been the type to truly get jealous, which is good for his mental wellbeing, considering Dimitri and Dedue are inseparable as soon as he arrives in Fhirdiad. If Dedue isn’t with Dimitri, it’s largely due to councilwork, but that’s always a brief slot of time out of their day. 

The beginning of the Wyvern Moon brings autumn in full force, and Sylvain spends most of his free time with the others. He walks through the streets of Fhirdiad with Annette on a day Felix is too busy to, smelling spice and warm drinks, promising to help combat the chill in the air. 

The day before Ashe’s birthday, Sylvain takes him out to the marketplace so he can pick out his gift. Sylvain’s been too wrapped up in his own thoughts for the past month to think about what to get him, so he decides just offering up his coinpurse is easier than not spoiling him. 

It’s also easier to distract him with presents when Ashe tries to ask Sylvain any pressing questions. 

The first portion of their shopping trip goes well enough. They stop at Ashe’s favourite book shop, then go through the main marketplace to look at the shops and stalls set up. Sylvain thinks he’s done an excellent job at distracting Ashe from asking Sylvain about himself.

Except Ashe has been talking with Dedue. And since Ashe and Dedue have been talking, and since it’s not _technically_ his birthday yet, Ashe decides he has every right to bring up Sylvain and his (lacking) love life.

“If you’ve been chatting with Dedue about me, than you know what I think about this whole mess.”

“Dedue says you think you’re not capable of being loved.”

Sylvain groans. “Ashe, this is supposed to be about _you_ , not me!” 

“I think you’d be surprised, Sylvain,” he says, words as earnest as his gaze, completely ignoring Sylvain’s protest. “The heart is something we have to listen to. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be human.” 

He frowns, resisting the urge to cross his arms. “That sounds like it came out of one of your stories.” 

Ashe blushes. “It _might_ have, but that doesn’t make it any less true! Communicating your feelings with this person is the best way to go about it, don’t you think?” 

Sylvain, unfortunately, thinks too much. He already knows what’ll happen if he tells Dimitri what he feels. He doesn’t like the thought of having to head back to Gautier in shame, tail tucked between his legs, because he was foolish enough to proposition the _King of Fódlan_.

“Ashe, buddy, this isn’t—.” He sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it, y’know? Sylvain Gautier was not made for long term commitments.” 

Ashe watches him, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. It’s not a look Sylvain likes being on the receiving end of. “Sylvain—.” 

“Ashe. Today is about you, not me! Let’s just focus on getting your present, okay?” He pauses, watching as Ashe’s expression waivers, and goes in for what he thinks might give him the upper hand. He slumps his shoulders, just slightly, lips curling into a smile. “Please? I want to make sure your birthday is good.” 

Ashe flicks his gaze away to the market stalls before sighing. “Fine. But we’re not done with this.” 

“Sure, buddy,” Sylvain says, slinging an arm over Ashe’s shoulders. “Whatever you say.”

The rest of their trip out in the town is spent with Sylvain buying Ashe an exorbitant amount of spices from a merchant that’s carted them in from Brigid. The excitement in Ashe’s eyes at showing the spices off to Dedue makes Sylvain’s mood lift. 

By the time they’ve arrived back at the castle, Sylvain does what he’s been known to do recently. He seeks out Dimitri. There’s only a few places he could be at this time a day, and his gut instinct to check the study first proves to be the right choice. 

Dimitri isn’t alone when Sylvain cracks the study door open. Felix is sitting across from him, papers in hand, scowling fiercely down. He glances up when he hears the door, notes it’s Sylvain, and looks back down. The dagger he twirls in his hand out of a need to fidget makes him look dangerously close to stabbing the desk. 

Dimitri doesn’t look much happier. His eyepatch is off, for once, his hair hanging loose and looking like it’s been run through with his hands. The paperwork atop his desk is neatly stacked, though Sylvain knows the pile will just continue to grow as more and more harvest reports fall in from the surrounding territories.

He smiles, tiredly, when he looks up, and Sylvain feels his heart lurch. “How was the market?” 

“Festive,” Sylvain says, voice hitching slightly. It’s noticeable enough that Felix looks up again with a frown. “Crowded,” he amends, taking the empty seat beside Felix. “But Ashe got some spices from the merchant stall from Bridgid and seemed happy with that.” 

Felix nods, flipping the dagger over his knuckles as he looks back at the paper in his other hand. “The market was busy this morning, too. Annie wanted to see if there were any new books at the shop down by the school.” 

“Ooh, is that why Ashe’s favourite shop was out of new items?” 

Felix smiles, softly, huffing a small breath through his nose. “Should’ve taken him out earlier, then.” 

“You wound me,” Sylvain says, throwing a hand across his chest. “You know I can’t bring myself to get out of bed before dawn like some.” 

“You’re getting lazier in your old age,” Felix quips, and Sylvain gasps dramatically. 

“Dimitri, do you _hear_ these lies?” 

Dimitri hums, looking amused, but his eye is still on his paperwork. 

Sylvain turns back to Felix, just in time to see him sheath his dagger at his hip. “Are you staying here?” he asks. 

“Uhh, probably for a bit?” 

“Good.” The parchment in his grasp is shoved unceremoniously in Sylvain’s face. “I promised Annette I would meet her for dinner. You can handle reading over crop yields.”

Sylvain takes the papers with a laugh. “Hey, send for our dinner, too, then, won’t you?”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Fine. Bye.”

Dimitri huffs a small laugh as Felix all but stalks out of the study. He scoots his chair closer to the desk as he reads over the reports, the time passing slowly before their dinner arrives. Sylvain declares enough work has been done when the trays are brought in. Dimitri protests, but can’t argue when Sylvain gathers up all the reports, setting them aside. He moves his chair so he’s sitting at the table end, close to Dimitri, and they talk as they eat. 

Halfway through their meal, Sylvain has a sinking suspicion that one of Dimitri’s and Dedue’s many conversations turned towards him, without outright stating it. Dimitri talks first about the peace they’ve fought for, about how they’ve all grown used to it more than the war. There have been small skirmishes here and there, and the whole debacle Lysithea led in the southern Hyrm territory a few years back, but _peace_ has become their new normal. With peace has come fresh love, and Sylvain cannot help but stare openly as Dimitri talks about how nice it is, seeing all their friends find partners. 

Sylvain makes a non-committal hum, which makes Dimitri pause. He tilts his head, his blue eye bright in the low candlelight.

“How do you feel about it, Sylvain?”

Sylvain looks at him before glancing away, taking a swig of his drink. “About love?” he asks, keeping his glass between them as a barrier. 

Dimitri simply nods, his entire attention solely dedicated to Sylvain. It makes his throat dry. He takes another sip, setting his glass down before he clears his throat. 

“Well,” he drawls. “I’m definitely not worth it.”

Dimitri blinks. “What?” 

Sylvain’s lips twist in a wry smile. “I’m not worth being loved.”

_“Sylvain—”_

“It’s fine, Dimitri,” he sighs. “I’ve thought it over.”

There’s silence between them for the longest moment. Sylvain’s not surprised he’s managed to kill the night’s mood, but he’s still upset with himself over it. He lifts his glass, drains the rest of it in one swallow. When he sets it back down, the clink of it hitting the desk fills the quiet for just a moment.

Dimitri makes a soft noise, deep in his throat. “I think out of the two of us,” he murmurs, “I am the one unworthy of love.”

Sylvain’s head snaps up. “ _What?”_

Dimitri isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at his lap, where Sylvain can see his hands curled. He exhales, slowly. “After everything I’ve done, I’m certain I am the last man on this earth that deserves it.”

The admission is quiet, barely audible, but it rings heavily in Sylvain’s ears. He feels himself tense, irritation bubbling up within him. “You have to be joking.”

Dimitri glances up at his tone. “Sylvain?”

“You think _you_ aren’t worthy of love?” he asks. His hands are trembling, and Sylvain drops them, curling them into fists against his thigh. “Dimitri, you have a heart of gold. All you’ve ever done is give yourself to others! You don’t even notice how enamoured half the court is with you, do you?” 

“Wha—?”

“Dimitri, everyone you meet falls a little bit in love with you!” He reaches out, but stops himself before he touches him, trying to stop himself from lashing out as quickly as Felix is prone to do. “You are so worth being loved, and you don’t even _know_ it.”

Dimitri stares at him, eye wide, cheeks flushed a dusty pink. His lips are parted, his expression completely awed. Sylvain’s breathing is heavy, his blood thundering in his ears. They just stare at one another, and Sylvain wishes he could get his brain to work so that he might be able to _say something_. He can’t, though. He’s overwhelmed, so close to telling Dimitri that _he_ loves him, which shuts his mouth. 

Dimitri gathers himself first to be able to speak, though the whisper he exhales is nothing more than a name. “ _Sylvain_.”

Sylvain takes in a shuddering breath, looking away. “It’s true.” 

There’s a moment’s pause, where the only other sound in the room besides their breathing is the fire, crackling in the hearth. When Dimitri speaks again, his voice is soft, quiet, and thick with emotion. “Sylvain, if you believe that _I_ am capable of being loved, after everything you have seen me do. . .why do you insist on believing you are not?”

Sylvain jolts, the breath that rushes out of him unexpected. As unexpected as the sudden flood in his eyes. Dimitri looks at him, fervently, and it makes Sylvain’s heart ache. He isn’t. He knows that. He is so broken, so unlovable. The thought that someone like Dimitri, someone who has always been so gentle hearted, so capable of kindness that the cold winds of Faerghus failed to stifle out of him, could think Sylvain— _Sylvain_ , of all people—was capable of being loved was far too much. 

“I’m not,” he admits, voice weak, broken, as he crosses his arms. “I’m not.” 

Dimitri rises to his feet. He takes Sylvain’s hands, prying them from where he has his arms crossed about his chest. He kneels in front of him, making Sylvain’s breath catch in his throat, threatening to choke him. “Dimitri—.” 

“I do,” he says. His voice is firm, sincere. “I believe you are capable of being loved, even if you yourself do not. Whoever it is that you care this much about is so very lucky, Sylvain.” 

His hands are warm around Sylvain’s, and they squeeze, gently, at Sylvain’s wet laugh. It takes him a moment to realize he’s crying. 

“You don’t know that, Dimitri,” he manages. 

“But I do,” Dimitri says, with the same wholehearted conviction he speaks with at councils. “You are truly remarkable.”

Sylvain pries one of his hands away, wiping at his face. He shakes his head, pushing his chair back. Dimitri lets him go as he rises, almost tripping over the chair legs. “I _can’t_ —.” 

His voice chokes before he can finish his statement. Sylvain’s unsure what he even wants to say. Instead, he shakes his head again, turning on his heels. Dimitri calls out to him, but Sylvain resists stopping. He pushes his way out of the study, his boots falling heavy on the grounds of the corridor as he hurries away, back to his chambers. 

By the time he’s bolted his door behind him, his face is wet, vision blurry. He wipes at his eyes angirly, moving to the bathroom. He runs a bath, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror as he strips down.

There’s no preamble to his bath. As soon as the tub is filled he climbs in, dunking himself under the water, trying his hardest not to think. He wants to shut his thoughts off, wants to have peace. Peace from these emotions, peace from the guilt licking through him at his actions. 

He _ran away_. Dimitri opened up his emotions to him, and Sylvain turned tail and fled. 

There’s no alcohol in his chambers, which is probably best. He doesn’t trust himself to look right of mind enough to send for a bottle of whatever is lying around in the cellar. He dries himself off from his bath, scowling down at the pile of dirty laundry he leaves, too out of it to even tidy it up. He flops into bed, burrowing under his sheets, tugging a pillow to his chest, wishing desperately that it was a warm body.

**.**

The next seven days are the worst in Sylvain’s life. He doesn’t want to deal with the inevitable confrontation that’ll happen if he and Dimitri wind up alone, which means he avoids the problem at all costs. Except _Sylvain_ is the problem, and he can’t avoid himself, so he ends up avoiding Dimitri. 

Which, to no one’s surprise, is hard to do.

He isn’t that surprised, just how much time he spends with the King. Between seeking him out, council work, and other duties, Sylvain’s practically glued to Dimitri’s side every moment of the day. Trying to avoid him is not easy, but he manages, painfully, to keep themselves from being alone together. He seeks Felix out to spar in his free time, and while Felix is suspicious, he doesn’t question him, readily accepting a sparring partner. If Felix is busy with Annette, he hunts down Ashe, prying him away from his knightly duties to discuss Bernadetta’s writing. Whenever Ashe is busy, though, is the worst. Sylvain spends that time pacing through his chambers, reorganizing where he’s already organized. 

It’s a week of pain, and self-imposed agony. By the end of the seventh day, Sylvain is debating cutting off his hair, if just so he’ll have something to do. It’s late at night, his chambers lit up by the sole candlestick he’s left on the desk. His curtains are open, letting moonlight stream in, but it’s dark and _lonely_. 

He hasn’t been sleeping well for the past week, unsurprisingly. His reflection in the mirror looks ragged, exhausted. 

Three sharp, loud knocks sound on the door, startling him out of staring at himself. He glances over, but before he has a chance to process the knocks, the doorknob is rattling. Another series of knocks follows it, and he lets out a surprised huff of laughter as he heads to the door. 

“You’re impatient,” he says, when he swings the door open.

Felix glares at him, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re being stupid.”

“Wh—?” 

He brushes by him, shoulder digging into Sylvain as he passes. Sylvain stands with his palm on the door, mystified, before he settles on closing it, turning to face Felix with a smile. 

“Sure, come on in, Fe. How’s your night going?”

“Don’t give me that smile,” Felix states. “I hate it when you try to use those fake ones on me.”

Sylvain takes in a breath, smile frozen for a moment before he exhales, walking towards where Felix is standing, shoulders slumping. “Alright, so, what’s going on? Why am I stupid this time?” 

“Is that a joke?” Felix asks, eyes narrowed.

Sylvain spreads his hands, lifting his eyebrows. “How’d I manage to make _you_ mad?” 

“You’re definitely acting strange now,” he snaps, as if the reason for his irritation should be obvious to Sylvain. “Why? What the hell happened between you and Dimitri?” 

He blinks, mouth opening, different excuses flying to his lips. Of course Felix would be the one to confront him about it. _Of course_. A few lies fly through him, readying to leave him, but he swallows them down, settling with a nervous laugh. 

“Nothing, Fe! Nothing.” His voice wavers; he tries to cover it with a laugh. “Everything’s fine.”

Felix’s sharp gaze narrows. “Sylvain.”

Sylvain turns away from his stare, pacing a bit before he settles on the edge of his bed. He takes in a deep breath, brow furrowing, and he decides right then, “I’m going back to Gautier.” 

“No, you’re not,” states Felix. “What. _Happened_?” 

Sylvain’s lips part, prepared to lie through his teeth. He knows Felix won’t believe him, won’t let him get away with any other lie, but it is still what he prepares to speak. What falls out of his mouth isn’t what he’s planned at all. In a small, weak voice, he all but whispers, “I’m in love with him.”

There’s a pause. Sylvain’s face feels like it’s on fire. Felix doesn’t say anything, and Sylvain wonders if that’s worse than the mockery he expects. A few heartbeats later, Felix shifts. He moves and sits beside him on the bed. Sylvain stares at his hands, hanging limply between his knees, ignoring the sight of Felix in his peripheral. 

“I’m in love with him,” he repeats, voice still quaking. 

Felix hums. “Did you tell him?” 

“ _Tell_ him?” His voice hitches as he looks over at Felix in shock. “Why would—? Felix, have you _met me?_ I’m not—. I can’t—.” He stops his spluttering, taking in a deep breath. “He deserves better than me, Felix.” 

“So you didn’t tell him,” Felix sighs. After a moment, he scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re a fool.” 

“Wh—?” 

“I should’ve realised it earlier. You two are both so stupid. It was obvious.” 

“Wait, what? You can’t be mad I haven’t told him! You took three years to tell Annette you wanted to court her!” 

“Two years before you, and I didn’t immediately avoid her after realising how I felt,” says Felix, leveling Sylvain with a look. “You’ve worked yourself into a panic over nothing.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing? The fact that I have feelings for the King is—” 

“He feels the same way about you,” Felix states. 

Sylvain stops short, a rebuttal dying on his tongue. His lips part, but before he can ask Felix what the hell he could possibly mean, he continues. 

“You’re all he ever talks about when we’re not talking about stupider political things, like taxation and trade routes.” 

“Stupid _er_?” 

He pitches his voice deeper, mocking Dimitri’s cadence in a way that's so uncharacteristic of him it tells Sylvain just how upset Felix is with the entire situation. 

_“Sylvain’s way of wording the reparation bill is far better than I could come up with. Did you see Sylvain calm that Adrestian Lord with barely more than a smile? Truly Sylvain would be much better suited for this_. Ugh.” His eyes roll as he heaves a breath. “It’s disgusting.”

Sylvain makes a half-choked noise at the display, one that even he can’t tell between a laugh and a sob. “He does not.”

“He _does_ ,” Felix insists, lip still curled up in a sneer. “It’s awful.”

“But he doesn’t—”

“Stop,” says Felix, and Sylvain’s jaw clicks shut. “You need to apologise for avoiding him.”

“I—.” Sylvain sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. “I know. That wasn’t fair to him.”

“It wasn’t,” Felix agrees. “But you also need to explain why you panicked.”

Sylvain frowns. He doesn’t think Felix would lie about Dimitri like that, but he has his doubts. Dimitri loving Sylvain was far too unbelievable. Far too good for someone like Sylvain to believe could be true. 

Sylvain does miss Dimitri, though. He misses him so much that it’s hard to think of anything else besides the warmth of his study, the joy Sylvain feels whenever Dimitri tells him a horribly corny joke he’s heard. He misses spending his free time playing a game of chess, or just reading in his company.

“I don’t—. I mean, I can’t—.”

Felix scoffs. “I can’t believe the first time you feel an _actual_ emotion, you get tongue-tied.” 

Sylvain huffs, crossing his arms. “Remind me again on how you confessed to Annette? Wasn’t it something about her singing?” 

Felix’s face turns a bright shade of red. “Fuck off. At least I _told_ her how I felt instead of running away.” 

“Not my best strategy, but—.” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind. No more excuses.”

Felix’s lips curl into a smirk. “Good. I’m sick of cleaning up your messes.”

“Hey, I resent that! I haven’t made any messes outside of myself!”

“Besides making Dimitri too focused on figuring out how he upset you to pay attention to actual _nation rebuilding work_ ,” Felix drawls. He rises to his feet. “Just go talk to him. If I could tell Annette, you can certainly tell Dimitri.”

“I really don’t like it when you’re right.”

Felix snorts. “I’m always right.”

Sylvain laughs, a ragged one, but a laugh nonetheless. “Sure, buddy. Whatever you say.”

Felix tilts his head towards the door. “C’mon. You’re doing this now.”

“In the middle of the night?” 

“Before you have a chance to overthink,” says Felix. 

Sylvain sighs, standing up. He chances a glance at his reflection, lips pressing into a grim line. “I’m changing first.”

**.**

He’s quick, once Felix leaves his chambers. He changes his clothes, splashes water on his face, and attempts to fix his hair. It curls away from his face, unruly and messy, but not _awful_. He’s certain Dimitri won’t mind, even if Sylvain wishes he had time to brush it out. 

If he waits that long, he’s going to psych himself out, then in the morning, Felix will be dragging him through the halls of the castle to Dimitri’s door himself. 

It’s late while he walks through the corridors, path familiar. There’s a few guards he passes, but mostly everyone’s retired for the night. It’s far too late, but he knows Dimitri’s going to be awake, and exactly where he’ll be.

Underneath the study door, Sylvain can see the orange glow of candlelight, which tells him he’s right. Dimitri’s awake, and most likely overworking himself. If he _has_ been distracted whenever Sylvain isn’t there, then he probably feels he’s fallen behind. Dimitri always takes too much on his own shoulders. Sylvain shouldn’t have left him as he did.

The door to the study is not one Sylvain has ever feared approaching before. He stands outside it, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, lifting his hand to knock multiple times, before panicking and pushing it through his hair instead. 

It wouldn’t take much. He knows if he even just opened the door, Dimitri wouldn’t mind. Sylvain lets himself into his rooms constantly. He and Felix both have keys to his personal quarters. He rarely knocks and waits for Dimitri to open it himself, but he’s nervous, antsy.

He drops three, rapidfire knocks to the door and takes a step back. His palms are sweaty, he wipes them against his trousers. There’s an excruciatingly long silence, before he hears shuffling just behind the door. Sylvain’s feet are rooted to the ground—which is good, because he wants to turn and flee, but doesn’t trust his knees not to give out. 

The door opens slowly. Through the small crack, he spots Dimitri’s bright eye, hears him take in a sharp breath. Sylvain smiles, gently as he opens the door the rest of the way. He looks like he’s been through the works, hair messy and shirt untucked. It’s not how Dimitri would ever let himself be seen by anyone, which explains why he didn’t just call an entrance and approached the door to check who awaited him.

“Hey, Dima.”

“Sylvain! I—. Please, come in!” He steps aside, hastily, pulling the door open to let Sylvain in.

It takes him a half second to pry his feet from the ground, but when he does, he easily walks inside. It’s muscle memory, at this point, waltzing into the King’s personal study.

The study hasn’t changed much, though Sylvain doubted it would in the week he’s been trying to avoid this conversation. Moonlight filters in through the parted curtains at the tall window across the room. The rest of the study is bathed in the orange glow from the fireplace. Dimitri’s desk is a mess, papers strewn across the top of it in disarray, books stacked precariously. His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to go clean up the mess and reorganize. His legs don’t move, his feet turning him to face Dimitri, who hesitates near the door.

Sylvain takes in a breath, opening his mouth, and when he speaks, Dimitri speaks at the same time. “Dimitri, I need to apologize.”

“Sylvain, I must apologize.” 

They both stop, both stare at one another. Sylvain blinks, tilting his head.

“What? No. You don’t—you don’t need to apologize to me, Dimitri, I’m the one who’s been avoiding you.”

Dimitri shakes his head, bringing his hands in front of him, wringing them nervously. “Whatever it was I said to cause you such distress, I must ask you to forgive me. I have been thinking things over, and I know I overstepped, and I—.”

“ _Dimitri_. I messed up. Bad. Let me explain, _please_?”

Dimitri hesitates, a crease between his brow, but he nods. 

“I—.” Sylvain takes in a breath, thinking over his words. He hadn’t prepared what he was going to say beyond apologising, so he has to make it up on the go. “I am sorry,” he starts with. “I’ve been avoiding you, and I shouldn’t have. I panicked, after our talk the other night, because I got overwhelmed. It wasn’t your fault, though.”

“Sylvain—”

“I talked with Felix, earlier. He brought up a good point in this whole love thing. If he was able to tell Annette how he felt, I should definitely be able to tell the person I’m in love with.”

Dimitri’s eye widens. “You’re in love?” he asks, voice soft.

“I am.” Sylvain smiles, taking a step towards him. He takes his hand, from where Dimitri’s got them clenched in the sides of his pants, the other lifting to stroke a knuckle down his jaw. Sylvain watches comprehension fill Dimitri’s face, alongside the blush that follows the trail of his fingers as they settle against the strong line of his jaw. “I shouldn’t have been concerned. I know that now.” His voice is low, gentle, and his eyes flick down when Dimitri’s lips part, but he forces his gaze back to his eye. “I love you, Dimitri.”

 _“Me?_ ” 

A smile curls Sylvain’s lips. “You,” he reassures.

 _“Oh_.” It’s basically a gasp, sounding like it’s been ripped from Dimitri’s chest. The hand in Sylvain’s shifts, lacing their fingers together and he startles just slightly when Dimitri’s warm hand reaches up to press Sylvain’s palm firmer against his cheek. “I didn’t—. Are you _sure_?”

Sylvain laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure. I love you, Dimitri.”

Hearing it again seems to startle Dimitri even more. Sylvain watches his eye as tears start to gather, and his face crumple with a rush of emotions before they’re all replaced with pure elation. He laughs, a watery sounding noise bubbling up from his throat. “I love you, too,” he says, and the words steal the breath from Sylvain’s lungs.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice airy.

Dimitri nods, still holding Sylvain’s hand against his face. “I never thought you felt the same,” he admits. “You’re so very kind, and I thought I never would have my feelings reciprocated.”

 _“I’m_ kind?” he splutters. “Dimitri, I’ve been avoiding you because I panicked!”

“But before then, you’ve always strived to make me feel better! You always try to make me laugh, when days are stressful, and you’re always making certain I’m not overworking myself to exhaustion, and you care so deeply, I never thought you would feel the same way I feel about you.”

He’s babbling, and Sylvain loves it. His heart clenches in his chest, emotions swelling, and he brushes his thumb against the skin underneath Dimitri’s eyepatch. 

“Dimitri, darling, love,” he breathes, “can I kiss you?”

“Oh.” Heat warms the skin under Sylvain’s palm, Dimitri’s blush trailing up to the tips of his ears. He grins, a tiny, shy grin. “ _Oh_ , yes, Sylvain, you can.”

The first press of their lips is gentle, their nose bumping as they try to move together. Sylvain draws back after that one breath, not going far as a nervous laugh escaping him. “Never thought I’d be afraid of fucking up a kiss,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against Dimitri’s as he speaks. 

Dimitri shivers, mouth going slack, and Sylvain spares one smile before he leans back in, kissing him properly. 

Sylvain’s careful, pressing soft, chaste kisses against Dimitri’s willing mouth. He’s letting Sylvain lead, which doesn’t surprise him that much, though when he draws away from Dimitri’s lip to trail sloppy kisses along his jaw, he delights in the way Dimitri tilts his head to bare his neck. Sylvain’s teeth nip against Dimitri’s thundering pulse, making Dimitri make a noise, low in his throat. A hand tangles in Sylvain’s hair, and Sylvain hums as he’s drawn back up, captivated by the confidence Dimitri shows as his lips slot against his.

They’re both out of breath when Sylvain pulls back, a small, satisfied smile curling his lips when Dimitri tries to chase him. He stills him, moving his hand to trace his thumb across his plump bottom lip, waiting until Dimitri’s eye slowly blinks open. He presses their foreheads together as Dimitri’s fingers loosen their grip in his hair.

“Slow,” Sylvain murmurs, voice rough. “We should— _slow._ ”

Not the most eloquent way of wording things, he thinks, but Dimitri looks far too blissed out to care, nodding absently. Sylvain smiles, giving him a soft kiss before drawing back.

“Alright,” he breathes. “Alright, we’re going to clean your desk up, and then you’re gonna head to bed, because if we’re _both_ late to the council meeting tomorrow, Felix will scalp us both.”

Dimitri gives a startled, little laugh. “Felix has been cranky with me.”

“My fault,” Sylvain says. “I know. I’m still sorry.”

Dimitri’s eye crinkles with his smile. He leans forward to nuzzle against Sylvain’s cheek, pecking a tiny kiss against the arc of his cheekbone before he steps away, looking like it physically pains him to do so. “I understand,” he says. “You don’t need to apologize again.”

It’s hard for them to stay out of each other’s space. Sylvain truly cares about Dimitri getting some semblance of sleep tonight, but as he busies his hands with tidying the papers and reports scattered about his desk, Dimitri stays close, lingering touches against his shoulders, along the trim of his waist. His touches are hesitant at first, but as soon as he realises Sylvain isn’t going to reject them, his hands get bold, lips trailing along his neck while Sylvain tries to decipher if the report on the armory has already been dealt with or not. 

“You’re _very_ distracting,” he comments, tilting his head when Dimitri slides up behind him, arms winding around him. 

“My apologies,” Dimitri murmurs, not sounding the least bit sorry, breath warm against Sylvain’s ear.

Sylvain’s hands brush across a stack of correspondence from the former leaders of the Alliance’s Roundtable. He glances around the desk, taking stock that it’s tidy enough for Dimitri’s standards. “Felix is going to be _so_ cranky,” he says. 

“Oh?” 

Sylvain turns in his arms, leaning against the desk as he reaches to wind his arms around Dimitri’s neck. It’s _adorable_ how red Dimitri gets, as if he hasn’t spent a solid fifteen minutes teasing Sylvain. He grins, tugging slightly to pull him down, brushing his lips against his.

“Yeah, definitely. He’s going to yell at me.”

“A regular day with the council, then,” Dimitri quips, and swallows up Sylvain’s laugh with his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Dimitri gets one (1) kiss and immediately becomes a kiss fiend. 
> 
> also this was supposed to be way shorter but I have a Too Much gene and it got loose here.
> 
> come validate me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616)


End file.
